


with a crackle and a spark

by Azaphod



Category: Archive 81 (Podcast)
Genre: Mild (Bad) Dirty Talk, Multiple Orgasms, Other, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Left of the Dial, They/Them Pronouns for Static Man, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:35:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Azaphod/pseuds/Azaphod
Summary: “Could you repeat that please?”“I asked if you wanted help getting off, you know-” Static Man tries to make a crude gesture, and from the instant disdain that springs to Nicholas’s face, they succeed in getting their point across.There’s a minute pause in which Nicholas continues to stare, but this time there’s something more to it. Behind the dark circles and exhaustion there isThe Sorcerer, appraising, sizing them up like a slab of meat. A very staticky, non euclidean slab of meat.--Static Man helps Nicholas relax.
Relationships: Static Man/Nicholas Waters
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	with a crackle and a spark

**Author's Note:**

> \- nicholas is trans in this fic, there is a VERY brief paragraph that alludes to him having chest dysphoria (which is why he keeps his shirt on). terms used for his parts are: folds, cunt, and dick.
> 
> \- i'm taking HUGE creative liberties on what static man can and cannot do in their current form, so bear with me here. (though i think a "body" that can be carried + give high fives can definitely finger someone, just sayin')
> 
> \- its been a hot while since i've listened the show, so i'm hoping i haven't made any glaring errors (let me know otherwise)

It isn’t a rare occurrence to walk the halls of the Waters’ house in the quiet hours of night to find someone burning away the midnight oil, lights streaming out from door cracks like beacons, or anglerfish—drawing you in. Sometimes it’s Morgan, tirelessly crafting, her rooms softly singing with music.

Tonight it’s Nicholas in his study—his father’s originally, before he killed the man. The room has since undergone a minor makeover, more shelves to hold all the new tapes and books they’ve found or taken in the hunt for knowledge; thicker curtains over the windows to hide them. There’s a tasteful looking rug thrown over the blood stains that refused to scrub clean. 

The murderer in question sits in a high back chair behind the desk, back bent, shoulders slumped. Closer inspection reveals dark eyes circled by dark shadows, and fingers that shake when they aren't flipping through papers, clicking away at the keyboard of a laptop, or rubbing those dark bruises deeper into his skin; as if he could push his body's need for sleep away through pure force of will. 

Knowing him, he probably could. The stubborn bastard.

There's a recorder leaning against a book, one of many kept continuously running. That kinda always happened now. They just...exist. All the time. It's weird. 

Static Man is aware their undivided attention is probably unsettling, but their evening plans of ‘bother Nicholas until he admits he needs to eat or sleep or _something_ ’necessitates it. As it is, Nicholas is ignoring them. It’s only when he reaches for a pen and knocks half his desk’s contents to the floor does Static Man breach the silence. 

“ _Dude_.” Nicholas jumps, a little startled noise escaping him before he shuts it down. Huh, maybe he _hadn’t_ been ignoring them afterall. “Are you...alright?”

Nicholas stoops low to collect the fallen papers and tapes, probably just so he can hide his face. “I am doing excellently, thank you for your concern.”

 _He says,_ Static Man thinks, _like a total robot. Or a human being on the verge of collapse_. 

“You need to relax, dude.” Static Man says, “The rituals aren’t going anywhere, I mean, unless they are. In that case you need a power nap at most.”

Nicholas sighs, and his body sags even moreso, like a great weight has been pressed atop him. “And what do you suggest? I have _tried_ sleeping, it-it’s a nonstarter.”

Static Man gives their version of a frown, teeth downturned. “I dunno, have you tried yoga? Chamomile? Getting off?”

Nicholas freezes, half worked up to snap at them for the suggestions. He coughs pointedly, looking away. Static Man isn’t easy to look at on a good day, but the man’s poker face hasn’t improved since they met him and there is an unmistakable flush to his face that makes him appear almost sickly set against his sleep-heavy eyes. 

“Sorry, was that too far?” Static Man asks. 

“No,” Nicholas says, “No, just. It’s been a while.”

“Not getting it on with old, dying gods?” Static Man leers, with a strange pang of some emotion they don’t care to place. “...Want some help with that?”

Nicholas stares. 

“Could you repeat that please?”

“I asked if you wanted help getting off, you know-” Static Man tries to make a crude gesture, and from the instant disdain that springs to Nicholas’s face, they succeed in getting their point across. 

There’s a minute pause in which Nicholas continues to stare, but this time there’s something more to it. Behind the dark circles and exhaustion there is _The Sorcerer_ , appraising, sizing them up like a slab of meat. A very staticky, non euclidean slab of meat. 

"And... _why_ would you be interested in doing that anyways?" Nicholas asks, carefully. "If I remember your personal complaints correctly, there wouldn't be any, ah, reciprocation." 

Static Man shrugs, "Listen, if that bothers you so much, you can go down on me when we get me a body that can get it up—" Nicholas makes a winded noise, face red, and isn't that just _fascinating_ , "—but for now, I'm more interested in getting you to unclench a little, dude." 

Nicholas's expression shutters.

"So, a charity case then." he says. Static Man can practically see the words ' _pity fuck_ ' floating in his head. 

Things have been different between them, especially after their failed little road trip. But instead of things becoming clearer, they both seemed to fall into this strange, nebulous space; always in orbit around each other, but unable to make contact without superfluous guards up and at the ready. Trust with transactional limits. 

So they aren’t sure exactly where they stand with Nicholas Waters, but trust is a two way street.

"Nah, I just want you." Static Man blurts out messily. Nicholas blinks and doesn’t say anything, so they continue bluntly— "Explicitly, in the most homo way, or I guess the most bi way. Were you not getting that?" 

Nicholas opens and closes his mouth, then frowns, a little dumbfounded expression clouding his features. "I uh, didn't know that." 

" _Dude_ ," Static Man exclaims, because _Christ_ , they hadn't been the most subtle. 

"I've been a little preoccupied!" Nicholas says defensively. 

"So let me help," — _at the least, let me have you this once and I won't ask for more_. They don't say that. "I’m at your fucking disposal, oh great socercer, so _use me_.” Nicholas still looks conflicted, so they add, ”Do you trust me?" 

"Inexplicably." Nicholas answers immediately. Then, feeling vulnerable and because he's an asshole—"As unfortunate as that may be." 

Static Man cannot level him with a flat glare, but they can buzz discordantly, which is basically the same thing. "Wow, you know _being_ a dick isn’t the smartest move toward getting your dick sucked actually." 

Nicholas wheezes out a laugh, "I apologize." 

He doesn't _sound_ very sorry, though the stressed lines of his face ease away, a rare smile ghosting at the corners of his mouth. Static Man moves closer, slowly, watching Nicholas straighten up and go taunt; his eyes tracking each shift and movement with hyper focus, not unlike a cornered animal. His fingers dig into the armrests of his chair, pulling at the leather.

They don’t stop until they’re a foot away, just a little bit taller then Nicholas sat in his fancy throne. “You'll tell me when to stop." Static Man says, commands. Nicholas raises an eyebrow. 

"Will that be necessary?" he asks, tone delightfully curious, devoid of that usual unending hunger that dogs him, driving him to hunt for more rituals, more power. It’s a strange new hunger now, and it’s sole focus is on them.

Static Man grins a mouthless grin, all teeth. "I'm not stopping until you can't even think about working or you tap out. Comprende?" 

Nicholas regards him for a breathless eternity, face flushed and eyes dark. He nods, and his voice sounds hoarse when he says, "Yes." 

“ _Sweet_.” Static Man croons, and they descend upon him. 

They crowd Nicholas back into his chair and he lets them, arching his back into their touch. It’s so easy to drag their hands—which are not _hands_ , not in any real sense of the word—over his legs, his thighs, to slide his pants down his hips. They feel like they must be touching him everywhere, but it isn’t enough.

"I do have a bedroom, you know." Nicholas says, though it doesn’t escape their notice that he doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned about doing this here, in the study with the door only mostly shut. He isn’t as nervous as before, back when Static Man met him in that motel room—back when he was in over his head, unknowing of the true scale of what he and his sister blindly stuck their hands into. 

He isn’t the same man anymore. But there is still a tension coiling tight, an animalistic gleam to his eyes, his skin flushing even further as they touch him. 

“That’s nice.” Static Man hums, a sound that crackles and pops in the air. They aren't really listening. 

It's odd to touch someone without the intention to hurt them. They’re formless, but malleable. When they touch Nicholas their static moves in grasping tendrils, thin lines of static-like fingers spreading soft thighs and digging in sharply to pull out a hitched gasp Nicholas chokes on in his attempt to stifle himself. 

“I assume you _won’t_ rip me to pieces?” Nicholas asks, watching dark static dance across his skin. 

What’s most frustrating is they can’t even really _feel_ it, not fully. It’s sensation through layer upon layer of fog. They know he’s warm though, as they drop into the space between his legs.

“Why, do you want me to?” Static Man finally answers, a little too late. 

Nicholas huffs. His silence is a little telling, and Static Man files that away for another time. If there is one. 

While Static Man ruminates, Nicholas brings his shaky hands down to the hem of his shirt, where they hover, frozen in the act of pulling it up to expose more naked skin. It isn’t anything Static Man hasn’t seen before, rituals get _weird_ and nakedness is an inevitably in their field of work. But there’s a conflicted look on Nicholas’s face, just a flash of something timid and vulnerable. 

He brings his hands back down before Static Man can comment on it, leaving the shirt rumpled, but in place. His eyes dart down to look at Static Man, like he's waiting for a reprimand. But if he isn’t going to say anything about it, neither will they. 

Static Man soothes his fear with a gentle, stinging touch over his legs, tugs lightly at his boxers. "Can I take these off?" 

"You _may_." Nicholas gripes prickly. Static Man rebukes by carelessly shoving the offending article of clothing down until it dangles around one of his ankles. 

There is a breathless moment of clarity in which Static Man _stares_ , hungrily drinking him in, and Nicholas tenses and his knees jerk to close protectively, though without much success as they hold him open. His eyes focus sharply on Static Man, despite the discomfort it must cause, and the trepidation written across his face is blatantly clear. _Is this happening?_

They drag through the slick between his folds, the contact zips a little thrill of something through Static Man; like an electric shock, but dulled, and Nicholas _jerks_.

He curses, hips jumping, “I-I, sorry,”

Static Man retreats a little, “Uh, was that good or bad?” 

Nicholas shakes his head, already reaching out as if to grab and haul them back in. “Good, very good, just unexpected. Now would you _please_ -”

He groans as they bring two fingers to his cunt again, less careful this time with their exploration. The sensation of touch outside of violence is still disconcerting, they have to be careful with things like pressure, and keeping their teeth away. All the while they keep an eye on Nicholas’s reactions; how he hums, quiet, when they dip into him, taking in how wet he is with no small amount of smug satisfaction. “Tell me how it feels,” Static Man requests.

Nicholas squirms. They aren’t quite thrusting their fingers into him yet, and there’s a tremor of impatience thrumming through him. “It feels—uh, a little sharp without any physical pain. Kind of like when you fall asleep on your arm and lose circulation, only it’s not _your_ arm.” 

“Wow,” Static Man drawls, deadpan. “that’s very hot.”

“I’m sorry, it’s not exactly a sensation I know how to put into words eloquently,” Nicholas snaps, his hips trying to roll into Static Man’s touch. He lets out a groan as they begin to gently thrust into him, the tendrils of static long and reaching, filling him up. 

“If you can still talk like a jackass then I’m clearly not doing something right,” Static Man says, then, quietly to themself; “guess I should put my money where my mouth is.”

Nicholas scrambles with his chair arms as they press bodily up against his dick, enveloping it fully, trying to mimic the minstriations of a tongue. When he bucks his hips again they shove him back down with a hand spread wide over his hip and stomach. 

“Oh, _fuck_.” 

Static Man snickers, and Nicholas jolts, a high, keening moan ripped from his chest. He looks down in surprise, mouth agape, sweat beginning to bead his brow. 

"Hah, do that again?" Nicholas asks. 

This time Static Man growls a rumbling purr, pressing themself hot and insistent to Nicholas as if to consume him, the static around him vibrating almost violently. Nicholas takes it all with quivering thighs, muscles tensing, head thrown back with a gasp. 

“Gonna come for me, baby?” Static Man coos, their voice unimpeded. Nicholas groans, though in a long suffering way. 

“Please, dear god, don’t try to talk dirty.” he begs, and Static Man laughs. 

One of Nicholas’s arms lashes out, gripping at static and finding no purchase, yet trying anyways to keep Static Man from moving away. His hips arch up and if they were to have a face, Nicholas might’ve broken their hypothetical nose, grinding in tight little circles until he shudders apart with a growl that breaks into a gasp. 

Static Man watches him bite his lip, the blissed out expression slowly transforming into mild discomfort as overstimulation starts to crest over him. “Still good?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Nicholas groans. “and while I appreciate the check-ins, are you really going to ask every time? I believe I can be trusted to say ‘stop’ when it becomes necessary.”

“Fine then,” Static Man growls, “ _bossy little_ —”

They don’t give him any time to adjust, suddenly bursting back into motion. They’re sloppier now, rougher. Pressing flat up against Nicholas and touching him everywhere they can, caressing up his thighs, and what little is exposed under his shirt. They have many, _many_ teeth and they use them to bite and tease, worrying marks into Nicholas’s skin.

Nicholas whines, " _Arth—_ " and Static Man shoves a fistful of grasping static into his open mouth without a second thought of any possible repercussions. Nicholas chokes and they start to withdraw, but then he moans around them, eyelids fluttering as he clenches tight around them and comes.

Static Man pulls away with a wet sound, dragging sharp fingertips down Nicholas’ jaw in a silent threat. “Don’t call me that.”

Nicholas has the decency to look guilty beneath the haze of pleasure, but they don’t give him much of a chance to say anything. As he arches up toward the precipice of too much once again, Static Man doubles down, sucking at his dick into the electric heat of them with ruthless intent. Nicholas shouts out a strangled sound, not even words, his legs kicking out and his hips jumping sporadically toward and away from the stimulation, until it's too much on the right side of pain and pleasure again, and he comes with a sob. 

Static Man relents this time, softly ghosting at his slick covered skin, admiring the constant tremble in his muscles they've managed to produce. Nicholas pants, his fingers grasping at the air around Static Man's curled up form. There’s a glazed look to his eyes, overwhelmed tears unshed, and a flush to his cheeks. Debauched, Static Man thinks, _hot_. 

They rock their fingers lightly, startling a jump in Nicholas’s hips and a pathetic little whine. 

“You can take more then this, right baby?” Static Man croons.

Nicholas grips the arms of his chair tighter, and nods.

They don’t know how long they keep him there, but by the time a fourth orgasm becomes a fifth, Nicholas is crying, his breaths coming out as hitched sobs, totally overwhelmed. He mumbles out words, but none of them _'stop'_ or _'no'_. Eventually it simply peeters out to a litany of " _Can't, can't, can't_ —" as he works himself up and fails again and again. 

Static Man takes pity on him, "What do you need?" they ask softly. If they had the wherewithal, they'd brush their ghostly fingers through the sweat slick curls glued to the sides of Nicholas's forehead, an act of tenderness to truly damn them forever. 

Nicholas shakes his head helplessly, choking on a gasp as Static Man fucks into him. “More.”

Static Man hums thoughtfully, “As you wish.” 

Nicholas’s mouth simply drops open as three fingers push into him—a steady press in and slick drag out—then four. A high, desperate noise dies in his throat, his breaths coming in hot pants. 

“Oh just you wait until I get a body,” Static Man murmurs. They can’t believe they kidded themself into thinking that _once_ would ever be enough. Not now that they know how Nicholas looks, flushed and tear soaked. They need to know _more_ , what that perfectly collected sorcerer looks like brought to his knees; split open on their fingers, their fist, their cock, pinned against a wall—their mind _races_ with all the possibilities.

It spurs them on, desperate and eager in their own way, even if they can’t feel it properly. The next thrust of their fingers stuns Nicholas into silence, then they finally lean forward and take his dick back into their mouth, sucking hard. 

Nicholas's head flies back, lips parted around a wail that is near silent. He shakes to high hell, almost sliding out of the chair as his orgasm crashes down on him. It’s probably more pain then pleasure now, but he still moans, chasing the sensation. They're almost disappointed he didn't scream their name. 

They fuck him through it, gentling slowly to a stop. Relaxed and fucked out are good looks on Nicholas, with his hair sweaty, sticking to his face and his lips swollen from biting. His thighs are slick and there are little pink marks littering the soft skin where Static Man had dug in with fingertips and teeth. They feel oddly pleased with that.

Nicholas blinks as if coming back to himself, dazed. His hips give a little aborted twitch down.

“Okay,” Nicholas breathes, hoarse. “I can’t, really this time, I can’t do that again.”

“Tapping out?” Static Man crooks their not-fingers one last time, a little cruelly, just to hear the moan they receive for their efforts. 

“Ta-tapping out!” he yelps, hips jumping straight off the seat of the chair, legs snapping shut only to fall open again as he huffs weakly.

Static Man chuckles and relents. They pat him on the knee, pulling away from the floor to hover above him. Not stand, because they don’t have legs, and they can’t do anything about the arousal thrumming through them; or how Nicholas goes cross eyed with discomfort trying to keep them in focus. It all slides home that feeling of not quite right, the dysphoria crawling back to claim them. 

They shake it off, or try to, at least. It wouldn’t be much longer like this. Hopefully. 

“C’mon, Sleeping Beauty,” Static Man says, gathering the man up, unresisting. “time for you to get some sleep for the first time in years probably.”

“That may be accurate.” Nicholas mumbles. “Did you quote _The Princess Bride_ earlier?”

Static Man laughs, “Maybe.”

They close the door to the study with a quiet click, drifting toward Nicholas’s room. There’s morning light peeking through the curtains now, but hopefully Nicholas will still sleep through the rest of the day. 

Nicholas shifts in their arms, he looks up at Static Man with an intense expression for someone so out of it, the cogs visibly turning in his head. 

“You alright?” 

Nicholas nods slowly, blinking. “Fine,” he says, “this is just—feeling a sense of deja vu, I suppose.” 

He tucks himself close with that, closing his eyes. 


End file.
